Senses
by Ryuchu
Summary: As she dances, the ship serves as both her audience and her orchestra. [003-centric]


**A/N:** It's been a while since I've written anything, so it's nice to come back and write for a quiet fandom in an attempt to get back in the swing of things.

Just a short 003 introspective piece set after the group makes their escape from Black Ghost right at the start of the story.

* * *

She should be sleeping.

Even with her cybernetic enhancements, she can feel the all too human creep of exhaustion sinking slowly into her as she lies in her bunk. But even though her body advocates loudly for sleep, her mind and senses rally to keep her awake.

Having escaped Black Ghost and destroyed one of their bases should give her a measure of comfort; helped by the fact that their current destination is the sea-side cottage of one of Dr. Gilmore's trusted friends, and she should be able to delude herself into thinking this is some kind of vacation. However, every time she gets so tantalizingly close to submerging herself in that pretty little lie, she is shocked back into reality.

Sometimes it's the sound of one of her fellow cyborgs muttering in their sleep, other times it's the clank and clatter of the ship that houses them, and still other times it's some sound miles away that sangs her attention. All of it seems to be happening in one head-splitting, chaotic cacophony – sometimes it so frays her overly sensitized nerves that she can feel tears welling in her eyes.

It had been so easy, almost second nature, to command and fine tune her abilities while they were making their escape. She could heighten her hearing or sight at will, alerting her new found companions to encroaching dangers. Not only did how to manipulate her powers come naturally to her, but it felt so...normal.

The thought makes her stomach churn and flip. How can it possibly feel normal to command the powers that she has? And, if it feels so normal, why can't she control them now?

She knows the answers.

She knows the answers, but she fears giving voice to them, even in the solitude of her own thoughts.

Putting it into words will make it real.

Irritably, she once more shifts her body, trying her best to find a comfortable place in this surreal situation. Instead, she's greeted with the sound of her own skin bristling against the covers and it's like a thousand needles are being jabbed directly into her mind. A tiny gasp of pain escapes her lips and she bolts out of bed. The sound of her bare feet landing on the ship's metallic floor is a thunder clap that makes her pull her hands to her ears, desperate for the gift of silence.

Instead, the incessant sounds only seem to grow more demanding, more shrill, as she loses control. Her body begins to collapse in on itself as her reality is reduced down to the unnaturally heightened senses bestowed upon her by Black Ghost. She's vaguely aware that she has begun sobbing, but even that does nothing more than add to her pain.

She's going to go insane.

Escape. She needs an escape.

Just as her nerves begin to rapidly approach their breaking point, a singular word comes to her mind.

Dance.

The voice that speaks to her is an amalgamation of everyone she has ever held dear in her life. Jean-Paul, Natalie, her parents – the phantoms of a past she can never return to intone that one word and she feels more than hears another sob rip through her chest. The first time she awoke on the battlefield all those years ago, she was able to push herself to keep going because the hope of returning to them one day continually pulled her forward. But now...

Unsteadily, she rises to her feet, using the wall of the ship to support her as she leaves her room, finding herself in a spacious hallway. Senses still overwhelming her, she pushes herself off the wall and sets her feet and arms. The clank, clatter, and creak of the giant metal behemoth that has swallowed her engulfs and suffocates her, calling her to just give up.

The basics. Just start with the basics and go from there.

First position.

Her movements are stiff as she performs several deep plié, her body dipping uncertainly and her back refusing to straighten under the pressure of her senses. Still she continues onward, switching to relevés as her muscles start to remember all those years of drills. She can feel her body warming into the familiar yet long abandoned exercises as her back straightens slightly. Next comes the sauté. Carefully she enters into another plié before jumping into the air; the moment of disconnect from the world has always been her favorite part.

Mere fractions of a second later when her feet touch down, what should have been a gentle landing is instead intensified to a body-shaking bang and she feels herself pitch forward. She throws her arms out, catching herself against the wall and wincing at the sound.

However, the tears have stopped at this point.

She rights herself and finds her center once again, resolution flaring in her eyes.

Second position.

She forces herself to concentrate on the movement of her body and attempts to push all else away. She imagines that she is once again a child, eager and inexperienced, repeating moves hundreds of times in an attempt to imitate the older girls at the dance academy.

This time when she lands, she stumbles only slightly.

Third position.

She becomes acutely aware of her body and the need to keep it loose and graceful. She pushes herself to dip lower, extend her legs longer, and make her leaps higher.

This time when she lands, it's an amateurish but passable sauté.

Fourth position.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she is gaining control. The noises, while still there, don't overwhelm her any longer. Experimentally, she directs all her attention towards the sound of her breathing and the beat of her heart. Suddenly it's as if wind is roaring and drums are beating directly into her head. Hastily, she pushes her senses outwards again, allowing the wave of distant and near sounds to gently crash over her. As her body continues to move, she commands her mind to calmly sort through the flood of information.

This time when she lands, the only indicator that something is wrong is a slight tremor in her body.

Fifth position.

It kills her that she is doing exactly what Black Ghost wants her to do. She is tuning these skills they have bestowed upon her; she is becoming a more effective weapon. She is confronting the reality she wants nothing more than to run away from. However, as her mind grows accustomed to the new information levels and the conscious control needed to sort through a flood of inputs in milliseconds, she finds a tiny smile on her lips.

By returning to her dancing, the very thing they used to steal her life away so many years ago, she will find the control she needs to live a normal life. That will be her revenge; that will be how she defines her powers.

And this time when she jumps, for those few glorious fractions of a second when she's in the air, she is given the gift of complete silence.

When she lands, it's as if she never stopped dancing.

She hold the position for only a few seconds before collapsing to the ground and leaning her back against the ship's wall. Slowly, she allows her eyes to close and uses her newly accepted control to tune her ears to the sounds of the ship around her. The clank, clatter, and creaks of the giant behemoth that has swallowed her now sounds like a lullaby, calling her to rest at last.

Gingerly, she return to her bed and climbs under her covers. As she gently drifts off, she listens to the gentle breathing of her fellow cyborgs – no, of her teammates – and feels truly safe for the first time in years.


End file.
